I'm Holding Every Breath For You
by Fotogenico
Summary: Songfic, based on the song "I'd Lie" by Taylor Swift. Human AU, involves unrequited/one-sided love. "He'd continue lying. Because if he couldn't tell Lovino, why should he tell everyone else who didn't need to know? Sigh."


**A/N: Hello again~ It's been a while, mm? Anyway, I've decided to write a delicious Spamano songfic! I love Spamano you know, it's currently tying with USUK for top position in my "Favourite Hetalia Pairings". Anyways, this one was inspired by a Taylor Swift song. I don't listen to her much but I love this song. Also funny enough, I found out that despite the fact I prefer calling most countries by their human names, I simply cannot get rid of the habit of wanting to or accidentally typing out "Antonio" as "Spain" even though I've clearly told myself "HUMAN AU, THUS HUMAN NAMES, ASDFGHJKL" Hahaha. Anyway, nonsense aside, please enjoy!~ If you like this please leave a review? Pwease? /kicked puppy face  
>~<strong>_Nico_

**Unrequited/One-sided love, human AU and thus, human names used**

**Song Used: I'd Lie ~~ Taylor Swift.**

* * *

><p><em>I don't think that passenger seat<br>Has ever looked this good to me  
>He tells me about his night<br>I count the colours in his eyes...  
><em>

* * *

><p>Antonio rode shotgun that night for once, Lovino taking the wheel. The hot-headed italian was picking him up from some bar in town, because Antonio had gone with the other members of the BTT that night for some drinks, and it ended up with the other two disappearing in the bathroom for an awkwardly long amount of time, and Antonio had consumed so much alchohol, he didn't think he'd be good enough to drive home that night. So instead he picked up his phone, spent a good fifteen minutes squinting at the buttons and eventually managed to enter Lovino's number and called him (he could've just looked through his contacts, but he only realized this later) and asked him to pick him up instead. He tuned out a long string of italian curses, and when the phone clicked off, he staggered out the door and waited in the cold air.<p>

Ah, Lovino. A fine young man that Antonio had known way back, he was living with the spaniard now. But only as friends. Sigh... Antonio let out a sad sigh, watching the mist escape his lips in the cold air. Only friends. He wished that they could be something more, but he wasn't so sure about confessing. Sure he was affectionate, he always had been, but he'd never actually told Lovino his feelings in absolute seriouness. He wasn't so sure whether he wanted to. Antonio had been with a large number of women in his time, sure, not as much as Francis (he wasn't sure that was humanely possible anyway), but still. Yet, this was the first time he had been afraid, afraid of _rejection_.

"Oi! What are you doing out there, b**tard? You're gonna get sick! Get in the car!"

Antonio looked up, and he couldn't stop a smile gracing his lips when he saw his beloved in front of him, in the car with the windows scrolled down. He had that adorable scowl on his face, and he was muttering profanities under his breath, but Antonio wouldn't have had it any other way as he sat down on the passenger seat. When Lovino started driving, Antonio started tuning out whatever the italian said, blame it on the alchohol. But throughout the drive, the only thing he could concentrate on the whole time was Lovino's eyes. They were golden... honey... amber... he couldn't name the colours, but everytime they passed a streetlight, Antonio swore he could see the sunsets of long-forgotten summers by the ocean in the italian's beautiful eyes.

* * *

><p><em>He'll never fall in love, he swears<br>As he runs his fingers through his hair  
>I'm laughing cause I hope he's wrong<br>And I don't think it's ever crossed his mind  
>He tells a joke, I fake a smile<br>But I know all his favourite songs  
><em>

* * *

><p>Antonio had long known that Lovino had a much deeper personality than his constantly annoyed demeanour. Antonio knew, in all his years of living with the italian, just how upset, serious, depressed he could get. He knew how inferior he felt to his younger brother Feliciano, who everyone loved because he was always so happy and loving and cheerful and artistic and good at so many things, <em>everything Lovino convinced himself he couldn't be.<em> Antonio knew that although they shared the same birthday (Lovino was older by only a few minutes), everyone remembered Feli's, no one ever remembered Lovino's. He remembered the day he came home early from Feliciano's party to find Lovino crying in the dining room, a birthday cake with a bunch of different foods surrounding it all gone cold, and he remembered how guilty he felt when he realized that no one else remembered. He remembered holding the italian as the younger man cried himself to sleep in the dining room that day, sobbing into the spaniard's shoulders.

Ever since, Antonio had always made sure people at the very least wished Lovino a happy birthday when the day came around.

Lovino grew up being ignored and shoved around, and he learnt how to shove back. And everytime Antonio asked him "Why don't you get into a relationship", the answer always was "No, I don't like anyone yet". And each time Antonio just laughed airily, when he was secretly thinking, "When you do, let it be me." But he never knew whether Lovino even registered the possibility of ever going out with the spaniard. He wasn't afraid of Lovino hating him for being homosexual, after all, his own brother was dating a German man whom he had claimed to _despise with every fibre of his soul_, (but Antonio knew he couldn't hate him that much if he trusted his beloved little brother with him) but what he was afraid of was because he was so close for so long, he'd only remain in the friend zone. Even though, Antonio knew, that even when Feliciano visited and turned on the radio, even when Lovino just let a small smile flicker across his face when he watched his little brother singing along to the radio song, even when Antonio knew that Lovino _hated_ that song, he would never be sure if Lovino knew all this himself.

* * *

><p><em>And I could tell you<br>His favourite colour's green  
>He loves to argue<br>Born on the seventeenth  
>His sister (brother?)'s beautiful<br>He has his father's eyes  
>And if you asked me if I loved him...<em>

_I'd lie.  
><em>

* * *

><p>He could at the very least say that much about Lovino Vargas. He knew that he loved the colour green (as long as it wasn't mushy-pea-vomit green, ew) , most shades. He knew that he loved to argue, well, everyone could see that. He'd long since memorized his birthday, at first because of Feliciano, but now whenever he thought about it, all that came to mind was Lovino. Feliciano could come second, after all, Antonio wasn't <em>that<em> close to him anyway, he figured Feli would be right happy with Ludwig by his side on his birthday. Sure, Feliciano was talented and beautiful and all, but to Antonio, Lovino, who had a scowl to turn milk sour and an attitude that could send a firebreathing dragon packing for the next train, was the most beautiful thing in the world, with the softest hair (with this cute little curl that defied gravity 24/7) and a smile so wonderful Antonio could've wrotten books just _trying_ to describe how beautiful it was, and with his grandfather's eyes... But he knew that, if anyone asked him whether he was in love with Lovino, he'd always answer the same way.

"Not at all."

* * *

><p><em>He looks around the room<em>  
><em>Innocently overlooks the truth<em>  
><em>Shouldn't a light go on?<em>  
><em>Doesn't he know,<em>  
><em>I've had him memorized for so long?<em>

* * *

><p>Lovino came home that day, depressed, knowing he'd be greeted by cold emptiness as everyone went over to Feliciano's house for his birthday.<p>

And instead, he was almost blinded, when he opened the door, and all he could see was multicoloured balloons, streamers, a banner hanging from the ceiling saying "Happy Birthday Lovi!~" and a certain spaniard popping streamers in the air. Antonio had been planning all this from the moment he woke up, he'd prepared everything, Lovino's favourite songs and food and even his favourite flavour of cake. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, Lovino would figure out that Antonio had memorized him for all this time, and maybe tonight, he'd finally find a person to call his...

But instead, that night, it was just like any other night, with more smiles and laughter of course, but Lovino went to sleep early when Antonio offered to clean up. Nothing accomplished.

Another plan failed.

* * *

><p><em>He sees everything black and white<br>Never let nobody see him cry  
>I don't let nobody see me<br>Wishing he was mine...!_

_And I could tell you  
>His favourite colour's green<br>He loves to argue  
>Born on the seventeenth<br>His sister (brother?)'s beautiful  
>He has his father's eyes<br>And if you asked me if I loved him..._

_I'd lie.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Antonio had often heard Lovino crying before.<p>

They lived in the same house after all. Usually, it was late at night, continuing on to the wee hours of the morning. Antonio would wake up, head to the bathroom, only to stop outside Lovino's door and hear heart-breaking, full blown, gasping, shoulder-wracking cries. He'd hear his beloved italian sob and wail, sometimes muffled by the pillow, sometimes hearing him slamming his fists into the floor or wall. Each time, Antonio would wonder how it would be like if he just marched right in there and kissed away the tears, regardless of the price he'd have to pay later. And whenever Antonio tried to come in and help, all he'd get was the nearest solid object to his face, and in a flash the door would slam shut and click itself locked, and Antonio wouldn't see Lovino until morning, where the only tell-tale signs of the other crying was the bag under his eyes showing his lack of sleep. Yes, Antonio knew that Lovino hated showing his weak side to anyone.

What Lovino didn't know was that Antonio cried too.

Antonio would sit on his bed in his heartache, and everytime he drew a breath it always felt like a sliver of glass was stuck in his throat. Although he'd never admit it, it would always be because of Lovino. He'd always be upset whenever reality decided to sneak upon the usually nonchalant and airheaded spaniard and headbutt him, letting Antonio run to his room choking in disappointment with realizations that Lovino would probably never love him back. He would cry, only muffled sobs and whimpers, he wouldn't want to wake the other up. He wanted so badly to just rush into the other's room and hug him and absorb his warmth and run his fingers through the other's hair and kiss him on the lips and make him realize, just _realize,_ that maybe Antonio wouldn't be such a bad partner after all.

But of course, he'd tell anyone who'd ask a no. What was the point in telling the truth to someone else if he couldn't say it to the person he wanted to, right?

Sigh.

* * *

><p><em>He stands there, and walks away<br>My Go if I could only say  
>"I'm holding every breath for you..."<em>

_He'd never tell you_  
><em>But he can play guitar<em>  
><em>I think he can see through<em>  
><em>Everything but my heart<em>  
><em>First thought when I wake up<em>  
><em>"Mi amor is beautiful~"<em>  
><em>I put on my makeup (wait,what?)<em>  
><em>And pray for a miracle.<br>_

* * *

><p>You could ask him all you want, no matter how persistent you are, Lovino would never admit it to you.<p>

But Antonio would sometimes walk by the living room, and he'd see through the screen door, out on the patio, a certain italian would be sitting there, strumming his guitar, a soft melody wafting through the air. Of course, Antonio would never interrupt, he'd just stand there and watch and smile until Lovino turned around and started shrieking profanities while blushing furiously. Only Antonio and Feliciano knew about this. Feliciano had given him an acoustic guitar for his birthday a long time ago, and Lovino had become rather skilled on the guitar. Often, Feli would stop by and the Vargas brothers would both sit down on Antonio's patio just playing random tunes, Feli teaching Lovino all he knew. Antonio sometimes would borrow Feli's guitar and he'd play a little with Lovino too, but this was rare. All Antonio knew was that everytime his beloved would play guitar, he didn't care how important anything else was, he'd allow himself that one time of the day of luxury and relaxation, to just stand there and watch Lovino's fingers skimming effortlessly across the guitar strings, and he'd watch the normally feisty italian sitting there calmly, the smallest of smile gracing his beautiful face as he sang softly to whatever he was playing, his sunset-coloured eyes sometimes even closed in gentle peacefulness.

And each time, Antonio would wonder, if he could only say,

"I'm holding every breath for you."

Yes, Antonio would never give up. No matter how depressing reality would get, he knew that one day or another he'd get his feelings across, no matter how dense the other would be. Each morning he'd wake up, and he'd smile as a single thought flickered across his dazed mind, "_Mi amor is beautiful_" , and he'd hop off the bed, energized and smiling like the sunshine, and he'd start the morning off by praying to God for a miracle, he'd kiss the crucifix he wore, and continued out his door for another day with his beloved.

_Yes he could tell you, his favourite colour's green,_ he could answer this question in a blink of an eye, effortlessly. He could point out the obvious and say that _he loves to argue, oh how it kills me_, and he'd just laugh airily as if he hadn't a care in the world. Sometimes he'd ramble on, saying that no matter how much _his sister's beautiful _that he'd always think Lovino was the most beautiful, and how _he has his father's eyes_, and the list would go on. But most of all, he knows that, "_If you asked me if I loved him..."_

_"If you asked me if I love him..._

_"I'd lie."_


End file.
